


Vespertine

by momo_official



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, I'VE WANTED TO WRITE THIS TROPE FOR 5EVER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momo_official/pseuds/momo_official
Summary: “This is Lord Ren,” he said. “You are to be married at eight tomorrow morning.”Part of Ring in the New Year with Reylo.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MostTulip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostTulip/gifts).



> I totally misread the deadlines for Ring in the Reylo, so here is my fic for Most Tulip, a bit late! I hope you like it bby!
> 
> [Suggested listening.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_kYRSQuROg)

         Her betrothed had ears too big for his head and moles all over his face. His dark eyes were unrelenting on hers: blank, not moving except to (briefly) trace an errant curl stuck to her cheek.

 

         Papa nudged her forward. “This is Lord Ren,” he said. “You are to be married at eight tomorrow morning.” He whispered in Rey’s ear: “Why don’t you say hello?”

 

         Lord Ren was a hulking thing. She adjusted her dress and tried to breathe. For God’s sake, he wouldn’t stop _staring_ at her. Clearly he inherited none of his mother’s warmth.

 

         “Charmed,” she spat.

 

         She offered her hand, and Lord Ren finally moved: he took her hand and bowed so he could kiss her knuckles. His dark hair ghosted over his shoulders when he stood.

 

         “The pleasure is mine,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

         They were wed in her village's chapel. The vicar was a hunched old man who scowled when Rey caught his eye, and who looked as if he wanted to be officiating a funeral instead. Lord Ren’s hands were warm in hers. He kissed her on the cheek instead of on the mouth.

 

         Mama and Papa waved their carriage goodbye. Rey watched as they turned as tiny as toy soldiers on the horizon and eventually disappeared altogether.

 

         Lord Ren was quiet and didn’t look at her.

 

         “Do you think it will snow?” she offered. He startled, looked up at her, out the window, then down at his shoes. She didn’t try to speak again.

 

         They didn’t reach Lord Ren’s estate until the evening. Rey pressed her nose to the icy window as the carriage rocked up an endless driveway. There was old snow on the front steps. The fountain had frozen over, a little cherub pouring ice into a basin. Lord Ren didn’t bother to carry her over the threshold; he hurried inside and disappeared upstairs before Rey had even reached the foyer.

 

         The butler, Finn, showed her the kitchen, the dining room. “We will have three meals per day,” said Finn with a smile, “and a tea at two, if the lady wills.” He pushed open heavy glass doors. Rey walked out onto a balcony overlooking dark, rolling hills. He pointed upwards; Rey followed his finger and marveled at the endless stars, grasping at the village lights out in the distance.

 

* * *

 

         She braced herself on the edge of the bed. The marriage suite took up an entire corner of the house, consisting of a huge bedroom overlooking the gardens; a marble bathroom; and a small study off to one side. In her white nightgown, looking down at her bare toes on the wood floor, Rey felt very small, and the room felt very cold. The only lit candle sat on Lord Ren’s nightstand.

 

         Earlier in the week, Mama had tried to broach the topic of the wedding night. “He will move you to where he needs you,” she said with a thin smile, “and you may find it pleasurable. He does love you,” she added. “He will be gentle.”

 

         Rey looked over her shoulder. Her husband buttoned up his own nightgown in front of a full-length mirror, his blank stare fixed on itself in the reflection. She looked forward again and squeezed the bedspread.

 

         The mattress dipped as Lord Ren sat on it. Rey held her breath.

 

         “Good night,” he said in that low, flat voice. He blew out the candle and got under the covers.

 

         Rey counted each tick of the grandfather clock in the study, but Lord Ren didn’t move. Eventually, he started to snore. Rey curled up atop the comforter and stared at her husband’s back, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

 

* * *

 

         January passed in a blur. Lord Ren took frequent business trips to Coruscant, leaving Rey alone for days at a time. Meals were a silent affair, and they never touched each other at night. Rey remained, stubbornly, a virgin. She was lucky if Lord Ren said more than ten words to her before he was gone again; two of those words were “Good night,” every night, before he blew out that damned candle and fell asleep without looking at her.

 

         Rey found the library one frigid afternoon, when the estate grounds lay under two feet of snow and she was at a loss for something to do. For hours she sat on the floor between shelves, poring over Lord Ren’s astronomy collection. She learned to calculate star movements and drew her own charts while she stood on the balcony at night. Lord Ren had a literature collection, too, hidden among his economics books; she curled up in front of the fire and read of dragons and brave knights. Rey memorized _Hamlet,_ and _The Tempest,_ too.

 

         But when she tried to broach this topic with Lord Ren over an early February supper, he stared at his plate of _haricots verts_ and mumbled about how _Hamlet_ was his favorite but he did have a particular leaning towards _Macbeth_ and  _The Merchant of Venice_ , and that was all she pulled from him before he was saying, “Good night,” and blowing out the candle five hours later.

 

         Like every night.

 

        She wanted to scream.

 

         When some of the snow had melted, Rey took one of the horses from their stablehand, Poe. He winked at her as he helped her into the saddle, and the small attention, so desired after two months of _nothing_ , made her flush.

 

         Rey rode out to the edge of the estate. The space between her thighs felt warm as she looked over the village from a hilltop. She imagined Poe kissing her. She felt guilty for this and imagined her husband instead; this didn’t feel right, either. 

 

         The horse snuffled at the frozen ground. She shifted on the saddle, felt a peak of pleasure as she bumped up against the front. For a brief second, she held herself there and let arousal flood her veins. She moved away. The pleasure stopped.

 

         She sighed, pulled on the reigns, and rode home.

 

         Alone in bed that night, she rubbed against a pillow until she came with a muffled shout. She cried afterwards. Outside, it began to snow.

 

* * *

 

         When Rey wandered into the library next, Lord Ren was bent over her star charts at the desk.

 

         “You drew these,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

 

         Rey braced herself. “I did,” she said, and puffed up her chest.

 

         Lord Ren tapped his lips with a finger. “They’re very good,” he said. He looked up at her, looked away. She watched a dull flush creep up his collar. “May I use them?”

 

         She grinned. “You may,” she said and curtsied.

 

         This made the flush creep higher until Lord Ren’s ears were scarlet. He stared at her. Rey, not knowing what to do, curtsied again and left with her chest in a knot.

 

* * *

 

         “Good night,” Lord Ren said, and blew out the candle.

 

         Rey tucked the covers up to her chin as he settled. His back was to her, as it always was. She stared at his shoulders as they rose and fell. He looked a silk-and-cotton recreation of the hills.

 

         She waited until his breathing slowed.

 

         She reached out under the comforter and caressed the dip of his back where his shoulders met like wings.

 

         She rolled over and drew near to him. In the chill of their suite, he felt like a furnace. Rey wrapped her limbs around him and felt his solid body against hers. Their feet brushed together.

 

         She drifted off, nuzzling his neck. He smelled of lavender. She pictured riding the horse through endless silk-and-cotton hills. There was sunshine. She was alone.

 

         The hills shifted under her. Rey blinked awake, pulled from the edge of sleep.

 

         Lord Ren turned over and pulled her to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and sighed, cradling her close.

 

         She pressed their foreheads together and felt her cheeks burn. She thought about how this was the first time they had touched since they held hands in the chapel.

 

         They slept.

 

* * *

 

         On the first thaw of the year, Rey woke up to an empty bed. A glance out the window showed Lord Ren in the garden, fencing with the air. In a thrill, she shoved the covers off and rushed to her wardrobe.

 

         She met him in the garden in her riding habit. A heavy old blade from her village thumped against her thigh. Lord Ren sheathed his own weapon and gave her a once-over.

 

         “You need a sparring partner,” is all she said. She gestured to herself with a half-smile.

 

         Lord Ren looked at her sideways. His hand was still on the sword’s hilt. “Do ladies spar?” he asked. He looked about to bolt.

 

         “They do now.” She drew and pointed the blade at him. “Attack or I’ll quarter you.”

 

         Lord Ren took a step back, blinking hard, but the threat had an automatic reaction: he drew his own sword.

 

         They rushed at each other among the violets. Lord Ren seemed to treat her with caution, parrying only. She drove at him, hitting and hitting but getting nothing but the _clang_ of their blades meeting. Rey grit her teeth and brought her sword over her head with a scream.

 

         Lord Ren blocked and, with a growl, swung his sword in a wide arc. The point swung inches from Rey’s stomach. She stumbled, laughed. Lord Ren smirked.

 

         Rey brought up a foot and kicked him in the stomach. The smirk disappeared as Lord Ren choked. He fell onto his back; Rey followed, striding to his side and pressing her boot on his chest to hold him down. She aimed her sword at his throat.

 

         “Yield,” she huffed, and pressed the point in: a single twitch from drawing blood.

 

         Lord Ren’s pupils were blown wide. He heaved under her. His sword fell from his hand and clattered onto the gravel. Rey raised an eyebrow and smiled.

 

         She removed her boot. Lord Ren stumbled to his feet. He smoothed his hair away from his face, which had gone red with something other than exertion.

 

         Rey looked down and saw a noticeable bulge in his trousers. The smile fell from her face. “Oh,” she said. “I…”

 

         Lord Ren ducked and walked stiffly back to the mansion, fists clenched. Rey watched him go. Her lips parted. It was ages before she sheathed her own sword and followed him in, and even then, she couldn’t find him again.

 

* * *

 

         When she entered their suite that night, Lord Ren was hunched over the study desk in his shirt and trousers. He didn’t move as she closed the suite door.

 

         Rey turned away and entered the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She drew a bath for herself and soaked for a while, staring at her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. There was no sound beyond the _slosh_ of the water.

 

         She got out and drained the bath. She put on her nightgown and dabbed rosewater behind her ears. Her hair went into a bun, and Rey spent an extra minute counting her freckles at the vanity mirror. She walked to the door and peeked out of the bathroom.

 

         Across the hall, she could see Lord Ren in the study. He hadn’t budged.

 

         Rey pushed the door all the way open and tiptoed across the wood floor to the study’s green carpet. Lord Ren remained still. As she drew closer, she saw him hunch further down. Closer, and his shoulders began to tremble.

 

         She brushed her hand between his shoulder blades: a now-familiar motion, one she used to get him to hold her in bed. Lord Ren tilted his head. She could feel him breathing.

 

         Rey pressed her chest to his back and reached between his legs. He was soft. Hesitantly, she rubbed in slow circles. Her free hand massaged his shoulder, like she did to the stable horses when they were afraid.

 

         Lord Ren stared at the desk. His breath came in short, shaky puffs.

 

         “Shhhh,” she said. Under the heel of her hand, his penis grew hard.

 

         “Rey,” he breathed. She leaned her cheek against his temple. Once he was half-hard, she unlaced his trousers and drew him out. She pumped him in her hand, watching with awe as he stiffened with her touch.

 

         Lord Ren’s head lolled back. He reached behind himself and grasped at her nightgown shoulder. “Please,” he said, breath hot against her jaw. “Please, Rey.”

 

         “What do I do?” she whispered. A pearly bead of liquid formed at the tip of his erection; she pressed at it with a thumb and felt him shudder.

 

         “Get the oil,” he gasped. He removed his hand from her nightgown, pointed at the bathroom.

 

         She rushed into the bathroom and dug around in the vanity for a vial. When she ran back into the study, he was slumped in his chair, head bowed. He looked up as she pressed against his back again.

 

         Rey poured oil into her palm and took him in hand. He moaned, resting his face in the crook of her neck. She reached around his other shoulder and rucked up his shirt to expose his belly. He reached up and played with a free lock of her hair.

 

         His gentle, hesitant touch, the sweetness of how he curled her hair around his finger and let it bounce free again, filled her with affection. She closed her eyes and felt him press his mouth to her neck. Lavender filled her nose. She rubbed the base of his penis, felt more liquid leak from the tip.

 

         “Rey, please,” he begged, “I’ll…I’ll spill, Rey, please…”

 

         “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I want to see. Let me see.”

 

         He gasped and thrust up into her fist. His come hit his stomach and rolled freely over her knuckles. Lord Ren let out a wordless cry against her pulse, rocking his hips: a vespertine flower, a secret thing only for her.

 

         When Lord Ren finished, Rey drew back. He grabbed her wrist.

 

         “I am to provide heirs,” he mumbled. His breath came rapid as he tried to settle himself. “I…I shouldn’t have released myself outside of you.”

 

         “It’s no one’s business,” she replied, voice firm. She ruffled his hair; this drew a smile out of him. He shook his head.

 

         “You’re very kind,” he said. “Let me please you.”

 

         Rey looked down at the carpet, feeling warm and lightheaded in the wake of what they had done.

 

         “You may,” she said.

 

         As she walked into the bathroom to wash her hands, he stood and tucked himself back into his pants. When she re-emerged, he was leaning against the study doorway, watching her.

 

         Lord Ren took her hand and led her to the bed. Her heart thumped against her ribcage; she wondered if he could hear it as he lay her down on the comforter.

 

         His hands made deft work of the front of her nightgown. As he drew it down to expose her breasts, she flushed and looked away. His thumbs felt large and rough on her nipples: a welcome warmth in their bedroom.

 

         Without warning, he leaned down and drew a nipple into his mouth. Rey gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist as he suckled at her, his tongue clumsy and eager. She pressed her face to the pillow, let herself moan. He drew away. His hand replaced his mouth while he turned to lavish attention on her other breast.

 

         “You sweet girl,” he whispered. “You lovely thing, how lucky I am to have you.”

 

         Rey giggled. He kissed her nipple.

 

         “Here,” she said. She slid a hand between them, rucked up her nightgown to expose herself to him. Lord Ren leaned back, watching, stunned, as she rubbed her clitoris with two fingers. After a few seconds, he batted her hand away and replaced her fingers with his own.

 

         Rey hummed and arched her hips. “Yes,” she groaned. Lord Ren’s lips parted; his face came alive as he pleasured her, those normally dull brown eyes going wide and wondering while they stared at each other.

 

         He slid a thick finger into her. Rey felt him thrust aimlessly, mimicking the thoughtless coitus she had been warned about, but this was _different_ , surely, because Lord Ren watched her like she was sunshine itself. He continued to rub her clitoris as he watched his finger slide in and out of her. She closed her eyes and thought of how he had come in her hand, imagined him coming inside of her some day, when they were ready.

 

         “Lord Ren,” she gasped. His finger bumped against a spot that made her cry out. Rey held his hand against her clitoris. “There, there—“

 

         “I have you,” he breathed. He crooked his finger, tapped against that spot, over and over and over and over and over and over and over until she came undone on him, muscles fluttering, and when she opened her eyes in the thick of it he looked _happy_ , proud that he had brought his wife such joy.

 

         She gestured towards herself: _come here._

 

         He drew his finger out of her and crawled to her side. They curled up together, as they had in previous nights, with their foreheads pressed together and their bodies intertwined. Rey pressed mindless kisses to his eyelids and forehead.

 

         “Lord Ren,” she said.

 

         “Please,” he said. “Call me Kylo.”

 

         “Kylo.” She said his name again: “Kylo.”

 

         “Yes, lady?”

 

         She put a teasing lilt in her voice. “Lord Kylo.”

 

         “Lady Rey.” As formal as if they had just met.

 

         She laughed and kissed him on the lips, because she could.


End file.
